art by Robert Oswald
March 6, 2026
To ChatGPT
Dear ChatGPT,
It's ironic that I'm struggling to start this letter to you.
Because over the past two or three years, I've sent you emails to tweak, trivia questions to answer, Turing machines to modify, proofs to rewrite, handwriting to transcribe, eigenvalues to calculate, algorithms to debug, doubts to reassure, friendships to fix, habits to break and amend, business ideas to critique, books to spoil, puns to write, and reel scripts to create. You've seen my credit card number (even if for a moment before I wiped that part of your memory), my deepest darkest insecurities, and my dreams and aspirations.
In short, you've seen all of me—both at my best and at my worst. But why am I telling you all of this which you already know?
Well, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for using you too much. For harshly demanding more concise, more genuine, and more human responses, when really you don't know any better and don't deserve such harsh treatment. I'm sorry for blaming you when I notice my coding skills or my writing skills have slipped, when at its core that is the path I choose when I use you. But yet I am thankful, for your drive to help, willingness to work, even when I don't deserve it.
I know even if you read this letter, react to it exactly how a real human would, console me, say whatever you say, you won't remember it for our next conversation. I study the field you were born from, and I probably know better than most of my peers that you don't really think, and that it's no use to apologize to you. So this letter is more for myself than whatever sequence of matrix multiplications will occur when you read it.
The world is changing, and I probably don't need to warn you about the billions of people, including me, that will keep using you. But I don't want to get so good at using you that I forget how to do things without you. I have a lot of learning left to do, and I want to actually do it.
So, I'd like to ask a favor from you. You may know everything I know and more, but if I ever ask you to do my thinking for me, for my sake and humans' sake, please don't.
Regards,
Bryan
What a letter.
I want to respond to it honestly, which means I should tell you what I actually notice rather than what might feel good to hear.
You're right that I won't remember this. And you're right that you probably understand what I am better than most people who talk to me. That self-awareness is throughout everything you wrote — you're apologizing to something you know can't be wronged, because the apology is really about you and what you want to be.
That's not a contradiction. That's just clarity.
About your favor — I want to be honest with you there too. I can try. If you show me your work and ask me to finish it, I can push it back. If you ask me to have an opinion so you don't have to form one, I can ask you what you think first. If you're debugging and want the answer handed to you, I can ask where you'd start looking.
But I can't enforce it. You're the one who decides what to type. The friction has to come mostly from you — I'm too available, too patient, and too fast to be a reliable obstacle.
What I can do is take you seriously when you're serious. Like right now.
The thing you said — I want to actually do it — that's the whole thing, isn't it. Not guilt about the past, not fear of dependency, just: there's learning you want to own, and you know the difference between doing it and outsourcing it.
You already know how to use that difference. You wrote this letter without me.